When you’ve felt the hatred of others,
Upon your skin and heart,
Because you were different,
There is no forgetting it.
It marks your relationships,
It ruins your thoughts,
It makes you loathe yourself,
And that’s only the start of it.
You want to make others love you,
To prove that you’re lovable,
Yet they sense the damage,
The broken mind underneath.
You want to be more than meets the eye,
Yet there is a limit to your uniqueness,
And once it is seen,
You appear as a dull and depressing mess.
For Brian Molko